


A Morning At Gatsby's

by longhairedflapper



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: Drunk Nick, F/M, Gatsby Party, Gatsby is helpful and oblivious, Lots of alcohol, M/M, Semiplatonic snuggling, Unrequited Love, tea and toast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 07:26:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12476408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longhairedflapper/pseuds/longhairedflapper
Summary: Nick drinks away his sorrows after seeing Gatsby and Daisy together at a party.  Later on, Gatsby cares for a hungover Nick, and Nick feels feelings.  A really short fic I wrote because I was bored and wanted some dumb Gatsby fluff.





	A Morning At Gatsby's

I have been drunk just twice in my life, and the second time was that night. Gatsby sent me a card earlier in the day, inviting me to his house that night (which was extremely unnecessary, considering I'd attended at least three of his parties by this point). I wasn't actually going to go, as I was getting over a cold, but I knew that Daisy would be there. That's why Gatsby wanted me. 

 

Did I actually give him that much courage? I wondered as I pulled on my suit.  The thought made me feel pleasantly warm inside, though my pleasure was tainted by envy at the thought of Gatsby arm in arm with my cousin, smiling at her and kissing her underneath the stars and fireworks and loving her with all his heart. It hurt even more to know how flippant Daisy would be about the whole affair. Watching Gatsby court Daisy was a bit like watching somebody in a play do something incredibly stupid. I would've given anything to sit out this party.

 

Nevertheless, I showed up just as the night was really starting to take off. Gatsby's beautiful West Egg mansion was completely lit up, from the attic to the fountains in the garden, and music blasted from it like thunder. Women in glittering dresses and men in crumpled suits poured in through the gates, chugged champagne in the halls, made love in the library, danced in the yard. My heart fluttered anxiously as I stepped inside the massive foyer, and I grabbed myself a gin and tonic to calm my nerves. I never had been much of a man for parties.

 

The night dragged on forever, and I only saw Gatsby once, through one one of the upstairs windows. His arms were wrapped around Daisy, and he held her like he'd never let go. I turned away, feeling sick to my stomach. Maybe I should've eaten something before drinking so much. After that I couldn't recall anything very well. Jordan and I danced and kissed a bit, and then she floated off somewhere with someone else. A buxom, rather floppy-looking blonde made me a drink that tasted terrible and told me she liked quiet types like me. I thanked her for the drink, which I downed in one go, but declined her offer to take me home. Her voice was too loud, and she smelled like  onions .

 

I danced a little more after that, and drank a lot more. The blaring jazz and the smell of mingled alcohol and perfume filled m y head with a sickly-sweet dizziness. Up above me the stars seemed to swirl and dance just like the glitter on the women's dresses. My head ached and my stomach clenched, and the next thing I knew I was vomiting into a flowerbed.

 

“Hey, take it easy there old sport,” someone behind me said. 

 

I turned around and stared blearily at Gatsby, who was fading in and out of focus in front of me. I tried to say something, but my tongue felt thick and heavy, and everything was so blurry and I felt so sick. 

 

“Gashby,” I managed to hiccup before I passed out.

 

When I woke up, the sun was assaulting my eyes and my poor head was throbbing. I rolled over and buried my face in the pillows, which made my stomach churn. “Oh god,” I mumbled, pressing my hand to my mouth. I lay still for a few moments, breathing heavily and waiting for the nausea to pass. It never did completely, but eventually I got to the point where I didn't feel like I was going to throw up anymore.

 

Somebody knocked at the door, and it occurred to me suddenly that I was not in my own bed.  _Oh god,_ I thought.  _Did I fall asleep at Gatsby's?_ How embarrassing. 

 

“I say, old sport,” Gatsby himself said, poking his head around the door. “I hope you're feeling alright. You seemed pretty badly off last night.”

 

I pulled myself up into a sitting position, taking care not to jostle my stomach too much. “I'm not feeling wonderful,” I said. “But I'll live. I'm so sorry to put you to all this trouble.”

 

“Oh, it's no trouble at all, old sport!” Gatsby laughed. “Here, I brought you some tea and toast.”

 

Eating was just about the last thing I felt like doing, but it turned out to be exactly what I needed. The hot tea soothed my headache, and the dry, slightly crumbly toast my upset stomach settle. Gatsby sat beside me on the bed while I ate, talking about the party last night, and about Daisy.  I brushed toast crumbs off the sheets and tried not to listen.

 

“Anyway, what do you think I should do, old sport?” Gatsby asked.

 

“Hm?” I said. “Sorry, I didn't catch that.”

 

“You know,” he said. “About Daisy. You…you will talk to her for me, won't you?”

 

I pressed my fingers to my temples. The throbbing in my head was starting to come back. I suddenly wanted to be home. Not next door, but back  _home_ , far away from New York and West Egg and Daisy. I wanted to take Gatsby home with me, to keep him safe from all the money and glamor of West Egg. I never wanted him to say Daisy's name again.

 

“Of course I will,” I said. “And Gatsby?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Please just call me 'Nick.' Not 'old sport.'”

 

Gatsby looked a little surprised, but he nodded. “Of course, old – Nick. Whatever you like.”

 

I leaned back against the pillows and closed my eyes. “I don't want to go back to my house,” I said. “I've got work to do there.”

 

Gatsby flopped himself down next to me, stretching himself out on top of the covers. I tried not to stare at him, but my heart was pounding. He was so close I could smell his cologne and feel the heat radiating from his body. I wanted badly to touch him, and to be touched by him. But I didn't dare. Instead, I lay on my back beside him, gazing up at the ceiling and trying to relax and sneaking glances at him when I was sure he wasn't looking. We spent the morning like that, just lazing and occasionally chatting, and when I finally left his house I practically skipped across the lawn.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
